The Forsaken
by Madam Octa
Summary: People say the Old House is haunted, but Dash doesn’t believe it. He goes there to prove he’s right and ends up making a new friend. The only problem is: that person isn’t “new”, much less a friend. [ Syndrome & Dash - slash ]
1. Tell Me

****

**C h a p t e r O n e  
T e l l m e**

"_Conversation should be _

_pleasant without scurrility,_

_witty without affectation,_

_free without indecency,_

_learned without conceitedness,_

_novel without falsehood."_

_William Shakespeare_

The Old House, as it was called, had been there for over a century. When it was built there was nothing else around it besides nature, but as the Industrial Revolution struck the United States, cities grew unbelievably quick; soon, the Old House was squished between two modern houses with their mailboxes matching the shade of red of their rooftops.

The Old House was entirely made of wood painted grey, though, due to time and lack of care, the colour was either worn off or covered by mulch. The windows were in even worse condition; some of the broken glass could be found on the ground by the windows, for no one had bothered to clean up and the wind wasn't strong enough in that area to carry a piece of glass. Where would usually be a garden, there was only dirt.

No one knew for sure the purpose of the Old House, for no one had ever lived there before. Only recently the neighbourhood noticed that the apparently dead house had smoke coming out of its chimney, weird shadows moving by the windows and even an occasional explosion that would light the entire house. Some said that if you got close enough during one of those times you could hear some crying, though that had never been proven.

Very often kids would peek into the Old House, trying to see who was living there. No one had ever been spotted and the house had been labelled as haunted.

Even though most of the neighbourhood was afraid of the house, Dashiell Parr did not believe in haunted houses, much less in ghosts.

Dash had changed a lot in only a few years. Being able to practice sports had given him the chance to unwind and control the hyperactivity created by his powers. Dash got a lot less annoying to others, especially to his teachers and Violet, his sister. But that did not make him a different person; all his schemes for being popular, and making fun of anyone superior to him in some way, were still there. The only things he lacked were time and will to put them in action.

His looks were not much different from before. Dash had the same slicked back blonde hair and wide light blue eyes. His choice of clothing was usually jeans, a shirt and his running shoes custom made by Edna -- when Helen got tired of buying Dash a new shoe every month because his old one had no sole left.

Dash wasn't popular at all in his school, neither in a positive or negative way. He was simply unknown by most.

He was standing across the street from the Old House on a chilly November afternoon with his only two friends; Jake, a tall, skinny red haired boy with a smug look on his face, and Tyler, a short, podgy boy with thick glasses and a Spider-Man t-shirt.

They were the most unusual combination of friends, since none of their interests matched. Dash loved sports and action, Jake played the violin and had a strange obsession for tea, and Tyler was the average comic book geek. They were all so different but got along better than any of the popular kids at school, who would use any chance they had to stab in the back their so-called friends.

"I don't like this, Dash! Let's go home and… and…" Tyler reached for his inhaler in the pocket of his jeans and took two puffs. "And do something else." He finished, breathless.

"Nope, I've got to prove there's absolutely nothing in this stupid house." Dash answered, never taking his eyes off the building in front of him, as if staring at a ferocious enemy ready to attack.

Jake was sitting on the sidewalk as uninterested as always, trying to look superior and mature. He didn't want to be there – he didn't want to be anywhere besides home, in fact. The streets were filthy and his mother would be furious when he got home with his clothes ruined, but Jake had no other choice, he had to sit on that horrible sidewalk and wait for his immature friends to gather some good sense.

"Dash, sometimes I seriously doubt your age." He said, pausing to pretend he was thinking hard about something. "Are you fourteen or four? I never remember."

"Oh, I think you're just jealous because _I'm_ going into that house and _I'm_ proving something useful. While you just sit there and say you can do better than everyone." Dash shot back, frowning.

"You call destroying a legend something useful?" Jake's expression changed from smug to critic. "Besides, you're just doing this to prove your sister wrong. You big baby!"

"I am not a baby you jackass!" Dash protested, stepping towards Jake with his fists clenched.

"Stop it!" Tyler stood between his two friends, arms stretched out to keep them apart. "Fighting will make us vulnerable to the ghosts… and they might possess us!"

Dash crossed his arms and turned his back to Jake and Tyler. "I don't care if you two don't support me, I'll go anyway. This crappy story has gone way too far; it's about time I reveal the truth to people!"

"I know…" Tyler whispered, his cheeks bright red. "I know you don't even consider this possibility, though… _if _there is a slim chance ghosts do exist-"

Dash opened his mouth to protest again, but Tyler cut him off before he could say anything.

"What'll you do if a ghost shows up?" Tyler asked.

Dash had the answer right there, stuck in his throat, ready to come out. He couldn't say it, though, which was very frustrating to him. Hiding his powers from people with a costume was easy, while hiding the truth in everyday life was one of the most difficult things ever, as when they were the perfect excuse for something, or the perfect proof of how special he truly was. That was one of those moments.

"I'll figure something out, don't worry." he swallowed the truth, as always.

Jake and Tyler could have tried to stop Dash as he marched towards the Old House, but they didn't. Jake knew better not to pressure Dash anymore or he would get hurt, while Tyler was too scared of getting any closer to the house.

The tall, iron fence that separated the house from the street was mostly broken and Dash had no troubles to get to the front porch. He looked back, unsurprised to see his friends weren't there anymore.

_Wussies_, he thought.

Dash wasn't sure if he should knock of just brake in. He chose to enter right away and relieve that slightly annoying feeling of uncertainty.

"Hello?" he whispered as he walked in, not really expecting an answer.

The house was just as awful on the inside, only worse because of the smell. He was so distracted admiring the living room that he didn't notice a figure running from the kitchen and then up the stairs, all he did notice was a faint crack, which was enough to alarm him, though.

Dash stared at the stairs, wondering if he had only been imagining things or not. Standing there would not answer his question; Dash had no other choice but to search the house for any signs of residents, either dead or alive.

The kitchen, oddly enough, had cabinets, a table and even an old looking refrigerator. Dash reached for the handle and opened its door, but there was nothing inside and it didn't smell like it had ever had.

He went back into the living room and stood by the foot of the staircase. The second floor seemed bigger than the first, and much more dangerous because of the weak wood of the floor that could break any second.

Dash put his feet on the first step and felt it bend slightly. He had to walk that thing up fast and smooth, or maybe that stair would probably split in two. For 'The Dash' speed is not a problem, and in less than a second he was on the second floor.

There were five doors in front of him, all open, and another flight of stairs hanging from the ceiling that lead into the attic. Dash could see there was no one in that floor either. The four rooms were all empty, except for a dirty, thin mattress in the centre of the first room. The bathroom consisted of a sink and a bathtub, both covered in mulch.

There was only one place left for Dash to look: the attic.

He didn't believe in ghost stories whatsoever, but he did believe in humans who take pleasure out of killing other humans, and an attic was the perfect place for that sort of person to hide. The bright side was, Dash was no regular human who could be attacked and beaten so easily. He had powers, and would willingly use them against anyone who tried to harm him.

The attic was the darkest place of the entire house, only lit by a round window on the far side of the room. The wood was even weaker on that floor, so Dash had to be extra careful as he walked. That room, unlike all the others in the house, was cramped with an unimaginable number of boxes and bags full of all kinds of things.

Every box had a label stating what was inside. That would be a good sign if it weren't for the odd contents of the boxes.

"Gold… iron… computer screens… hardware… software… microchips… legs?!" Dash read as he walked further into the room. He stretched out his arm to open the 'legs' box, when he caught some movement on the corner of his eye.

Dash turned around, fists clenched and his right food tapping on the floor, ready to run.

"Show yourself!" Dash demanded, his voice slightly shaky, for he couldn't hide all of his anxiety.

A figure stood up behind a pile of boxes. For his height it was most certainly a man, though it was hard to tell due the long, dirty coat he was wearing. He had a hood covering his entire head and his bare hands and feet were bandaged.

"Get out." The man said with a muffled voice, as if it there was something covering his mouth. He started walking slowly towards Dash.

Dash gave one step backwards and felt his body touching the round window of the room. The man was getting closer every second. A voice in his head told him to run as fast as he could, while another said he should stay and face whoever that man was, for the sake of his reputation of never being scared.

"I won't leave. I came here to know who you are, and that's what I'm gonna do!" Dash said, unclenching his fists and relaxing his legs. He breathed deeply and calmed down.

The man stopped and tilted his hooded head to the side.

"Are you some kind of moron? Leave me alone." He said.

"No!" Dash lowered his tone. "I mean… no. I have to know."

"Why do you care? Go back home to your parents and live your life, pretend we have never met." The man stretched his arm toward Dash and pointed his bandaged index finger at him, which he closed into a fist as he spoke. "Or must I take you out by force?"

The man swung forth and Dash dodged just in time to avoid getting hit. The man, however, smacked his body against the window, which shattered instantaneously. Dash reached out his arm and grabbed the man by his coat, pulling him back onto the floor.

Dash let go of the man and gave a few steps back, not too sure whether that man was still trying to kill him or not.

"You… saved my life." The man mumbled, covering his hooded face with his hands.

"Y-Yes I did." Dash answered. "Maybe you should trust me more from now on and tell me about yourself. I really think I can help."

He put his hands down and turned his head to Dash. "Help? I don't need to be helped. I managed to do a lot by myself and it is not now that I'll let myself be 'helped' by someone else."

"Right, you don't have to let me help. But perhaps there's something else I could do. I mean, the whole neighbourhood thinks you're a ghost. If I could prove them you're a real person, you might even become a legend." Dash insisted.

He almost felt sorry for that man, alone in such a horrible place. He could be strange and aggressive, but that didn't make him less human. Doctors could help him get better, that was for sure. Besides, that was his chance of proving people there were no ghosts in the Old House.

"I don't think people would want me as a legend like this. I was great before, you know. I was a step away from being remembered forever by the entire world… but things change, people change." The man sighed. "I let the most obvious cliché happen and my chances went down hill."

"Maybe you could get your chances back." Dash said, kneeling down beside the man. "I mean, you're not dead yet, so that means you haven't been completely defeated."

"I guess… you're right." The man nodded. "Who are you?"

"If I tell you, do you promise you'll introduce yourself to me?" the man nodded. "I'm Dashiell Parr, but everyone calls me Dash."

"Oh…" The man fell silent for a moment and then stretched his hand to Dash. "You can call me… Bud." The way Bud paused to think of his name was odd to Dash, but he figure it had something to do with being alone for such a long time.

Dash was unsure of shaking Bud's hand. If it was bandaged like that, there should be a reason. But not doing it would certainly take Bud's confidence in him, so Dash shook the man's hand quickly.

"Say, Bud… why don't you take off your hood?" Dash suggested, changing subjects.

"Well, there isn't much to see… but if we're gonna be friends you have to know everything about me, correct?" He said, pulling down his hood and revealed his entirely bandaged head, expect for his eyes, which were a darker blue than Dash's.

"Why do you wear those bandages, anyway?" Dash asked, sitting down more comfortably beside Bud.

"Remember when I said I lost everything? That includes my freedom." He explained, looking down sadly.

"Does that make you, you know… a fugitive?" the boy insisted, biting his lip worriedly.

"For a crime I did not commit." He completed.

"What sort of crime?"

"I was, and am, a genius. I had the answer to one kind _thing_ society had trouble dealing with. But they said I was too extreme, that my methods were too…" he continued, ignoring Dash's question. "Harsh." He finished.

"Maybe we could make people understand what your plan was all about and you could be free again!" Dash got up, his eyes glimmering at the thought of a challenge such as that. "And then we'd be famous for eternity!"

Bud shook his head. "It is not that simple, and I don't care anymore. I'd rather spend the rest of my life here… than among people. And you'd better not go around telling people who I am or even that I exist, I enjoy this anonymous life."

"But… I want to help somehow." Dash sat back down. "There must be something I can do for you."

"Your company would be more than enough for me. Would you do this for me?"

"Sure! I can come over after school everyday and we can talk!" Dash got up for the second time, but with more enthusiasm than before. "I'll bring you magazines and tape the news so you can know what's going on out there. And… and…" he paused to organize his many thoughts that were popping up in his head one after another. "I can bring you some things I don't use anymore, and help you clean up this place. I'll bring some curtains for privacy! Yes! And some sheets, and shampoo, and--"

"Dash, calm down!" Bud interrupted, getting up as well and wrapping one of his arms around Dash's shoulders. "I'm very grateful for all you intend to do for me, but keep them as a surprise! I mean, you don't have to tell me everything, do you? And ruin the surprise?" he winked.

"Oh, you're right! You're absolutely right." Dash cheerfully nodded. "I'll come back tomorrow, then. It's getting a little late."

"Fine with me." Bud said. Dash couldn't really see it, but the movements of his bandages made it seem as if the man were smiling.

Dash ran down the two flights of stairs and hurried to the door. He was passing trough the gates of the Old House and looked up, waving to his newest friend, who was standing by the round window of the attic.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**A/N:** That was… hmm… interesting. Very predictable about whom "Bud" is, I know! But then again, that's not supposed to be the biggest revelation of the story, so no harm done. ;)

I hope this is not too bad. It's my first try at this fandom and I'm very insecure about characterization and such. D:

Also, I tried to go a little crazy with the plot. There are some clichés forming and I don't want to contribute to any of them; I wanted something a little more unique. :) And that includes the main character! There are so many stories for the other characters and yet so few for Dash. I felt sorry for the poor boy and decided to give him an extra-nice role. Besides, Dash is my favourite character of the movie. Enjoy writing this story should be easy, for that matter. :D

The next chapter will be done soon. So, for those who liked, don't worry! And for the ones who disliked… worry! :)


	2. Trust your friend

**C h a p t e r T w o  
Trust your friend**

"_I'm sitting here in the boring room  
It's just another rainy Sunday afternoon  
I'm wasting my time  
I got nothing to do  
I'm hanging around  
I'm waiting for you"  
Lemon Tree by Fool's Garden_

He sat down on the floor with a sigh of relief. He ran his hand on the back of his head and pulled the loose end of his bandages and removed them. His bright orange hair fell on his shoulders for he had long ago run out of hair gel and will to keep them how he liked.

"Damn those supers…" Syndrome whispered to himself, cracking his neck as he used to do when nervous.

He didn't expect them to find him so soon; he had nothing prepared for his vengeance yet, not even a single plan. Syndrome got up and thoughtfully scanned the labels on the boxes, searching for ideas. His body could be worn out, but his mind wasn't.

Reclusion had its advantages; it gave time to think. That could be a bad thing if you did not know how to arrange your thoughts, for you could go mad easily with a messy head. Though Syndrome wasn't like that, he had control over his body functions, especially his brain.

His most brilliant inventions were all now boxed in that filthy attic, which didn't please him one bit, though it had to be done. Syndrome picked up a box from the top of many others and put it on the ground. He opened it slowly, nostalgia slightly breaking into him: his zero-point energy bracelets and his rocket boots – both so simple, yet unbelievably useful.

Syndrome had made about five bracelets for safety keeping; even though he didn't think he would ever use so many. He put two bracelets on and admired his bandaged hands and dirty coat. His appearance was different, but the feeling of power was the same of four years before. And, as always, he craved for the conclusion of his plan so this power could finally be undeniable to the world.

There was only one problem, a family-size one: the Parrs. As long as they lived, Syndrome would still be neglected. He had to get rid of them somehow.

"But how?" Syndrome asked out loud, scratching his chin.

He clearly couldn't beat the supers by himself, so he relied on a machine. Eyeing his box of bracelets, an idea popped up. He could make a much larger source of zero-point energy and use it to trap them there until he figured out a better way to finish them off.

Syndrome couldn't leave the house without calling up attention; the Parrs would have to come to him.

He left the attic and headed to what he marked as his sleeping room. Sprawling himself on the old mattress, Syndrome closed his eyes, giving the final touches to his plan.

"And I have just the right bait for my favourite super family…" he smirked to himself in delight. "Another member of the family."

Syndrome felt that was the perfect moment maniacal laugh to celebrate, but he decided to keep it quiet this time. He would have plenty of time to laugh later, when his plan was complete.

The next day Syndrome woke up with incessant knocking on his door. _It's probably him_, he thought. He quickly bandaged his face again, making sure to keep all his hair hidden and his mouth and eyes were not, and rushed down the stairs towards the door. Dash burst in the moment he saw Syndrome through the window.

"'Morning, Bud!" he greeted. "I brought a few things you might like to use…" he grinned. "And some you might like to eat." He playfully raised his eyebrows a few times, chuckling.

Syndrome forced a smile, unsure of what exactly to say.

Dash carried two large bags to the kitchen and placed them on the table, humming a merry tune all the time.

"I brought blankets, shampoo, soap, a towel, some of my dad's old clothes, and -- drum roll please!" he picked up the other bag and turned it upside down on the table. "Food!"

Syndrome had never seen so much junk food before in his entire life, and that was saying a lot, because he had been an addict since he was a kid himself. Doritos, Cheetos, Cheerios, Oreo and all other popular snacks a kid could ever dream of.

"I wasn't sure what type of cheese to bring, so I got cheddar. I mean, everyone loves cheddar cheese!" Dash blatantly stated.

"Cheddar's fine…" Syndrome nodded, his eyes wide.

Dash laughed. "You haven't seen the best of it! I brought you a little snack so you can keep these for later." He picked the first bag and took a smaller one from it. "Burger King Breakfast!"

Syndrome raised an eyebrow. "What is all this for?"

"I said I was gonna find a way to help, and that's exactly what I am doing." The younger boy explained.

"But I-" before Syndrome could say anything, Dash cut in with a repressive look.

"Eat." He said.

Syndrome had to count to ten and breathe slowly, all to keep him from yelling at the boy that very moment. He couldn't, though; befriending Dash was part of the plan. If he blew his cover before time it would all be lost.

"Fine." Syndrome finally answered, sitting on the kitchen chair and opening his tiny sandwich box. The smell of fast-food was too much for him to keep thinking of the plan. He had two choices: eat the sandwich or think of his plans, there was no in-between. It had been a while since the last time Syndrome ate a sandwich, especially a cheese, eggs and bacon one, making the choice much easier than it would usually be.

He picked the sandwich, and about four bites later Syndrome was already going for the french toast sticks. Dash seemed surprised with how he ate at first, but eventually turned away his attention to his own food.

An awkward moment of silence followed and Syndrome, who had already been having trouble to communicate that day, found himself in an even worse loss of words. He wasn't good at socializing with "normal people", much less with someone he intended to betray.

That's why I always send someone else do the dirty work… dammit, he reminded.

"How long have you been here?" Dash said, his mouth full of sandwich.

"A few years." Syndrome answered monotonously, never taking his eyes off his food.

"Oh, right." Dash sounded slightly uncomfortable with the harshness of the answer, but Syndrome didn't even notice. He was too concentrated on trying to make that moment less problematic. "Why do you wear those bandages?"

"They make it harder to identify me, if I'm ever spotted."

"And why do you live here? It attracts a lot of attention to the house. Weren't you afraid someone would come in here and find you like I did?" Dash insisted.

"Only someone who didn't care at all about ghost stories would come in, which meant that person would lack much reasoning." Syndrome answered, still staring blankly at the table.

"You've never told me your age..." The boy slyly pointed out to avoid making another question.

"Twenty nine."

"Younger than I thought!" he exclaimed. "I mean… ugh… no offence, but you sounded like a cranky old man yesterday… and today too."

Realization suddenly hit Syndrome rather hard in the face, metaphorically speaking. He wasn't doing such a good job on befriending the boy after all. He had to take drastic measures, no matter how much he hated to be nice to a Parr.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Syndrome politely said, this time looking directly at Dash. "I'm just not used to talking to anyone. And I was already a social failure before this incident, now I'm total disaster…" he chuckled uncomfortably.

Dash didn't take his eyes off Syndrome for a brief moment, in which both of them remained silent. Syndrome's smile slowly faded and it was replaced by a shy grin; he was wondering if his answer had been _that_ bad to leave the boy so shocked. Dash noticed his confusion and smiled.

"What brought you to this neighbourhood?" Dash asked.

"You're just… going to ignore what I said?" Syndrome's lips were left partly opened and he kept shaking his head several times, looking for the right words. Finding himself in a loss of words, Syndrome closed his mouth for a second. "I thought you had just complained about my attitude?"

Dash shuddered. "Not really. I was just wondering if you really wanted to me here, you know?" he looked down. "You laughed, so that meant you do… you're just not used to having people around, and I perfectly understand that."

Syndrome opened his mouth again, but Dash interrupted before he could even have another problem with his answer.

"What brought you to this neighbourhood?" Dash insisted, with another smile.

Syndrome knew that he was better off answering the question and moving on with his plan. Something was still bothering him, though. Dash would not have been making all those questions for no reason; he was probably suspicious. There was another possibility: Dash could be very innocent. But after all Syndrome had experienced in the past few years of his life taught him not to underestimate anyone.

What he was about to do put in danger the whole point of the plan if he were wrong about Dash. It was worth the try, however.

Syndrome suddenly frowned.

"Why are you so curious about my life?" he asked.

Dash was surprised with the question and leaned back on his chair, uncomfortably tapping his fingers on the wooden table. With a faint 'oh' he looked away.

"I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I just…" Dash closed his eyes. "I just want someone to care about me how I care about them. And the only way for that to happen is if I know that person well so I can help them."

"Your family cares about you." Syndrome stated, without thinking. He couldn't know Dash's family! "I think." He quickly added.

"They're my family; they have to care about me." He sighed.

"Don't your two _friends_ out there count?" Syndrome questioned. Dash's eyes flung open and he looked around the kitchen swiftly. "Out there."

Syndrome pointed to the window beside the front door, which they could see from the kitchen. Dash turned around and spotted Tyler and Jake, who were trying to peek into the house. Tyler took a few steps closer, but Jake grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back.

"What are they doing there?!" Dash exclaimed.

"That's what I'm asking."

Dash got up from his chair, but before he could rush out of the kitchen, Syndrome leaned over the table and grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't. They don't care what you're doing here." he said.

"But I-" Dash looked from Syndrome to the boys and back to Syndrome. "They are worried about me. I have to tell them I'm fine and lure them away from the house… _from you_."

Syndrome shook his head, spotting a chance to get close to the boy for once and for all.

"They don't trust you or your judgement, Dash. That's why they are out there." He said. "Don't fool yourself with those boys."

"I agree! But they can't get near the house, remember?" Dash insisted.

"They won't, Dash. Listen to me!" Syndrome tightened the grasp around the boy's arm to catch his attention when he tried to look out of the window again. "From what I've seen yesterday and in all other days you three were around the house, they won't get any closer. They're scared!"

Dash sighed. "I guess you're right…" he smiled. "You're always right. That proves I'm just… stupid."

Syndrome let go of his arm, allowing Dash to sit back down.

"You're not stupid, Dash. You just haven't realized yet that the world isn't a nice place full of potential friends. There are bad guys and girls out there and you must learn to deal with them." Syndrome grinned, pointing a finger at Dash. "You must overwhelm them. Show just who you are!"

"Show… who I am." Dash muttered under his breath. "I like that."

"You've stood in the shadows for too long, boy! It's time to get out!" Syndrome sprung out of his chair, raising his arms above his head. "Prove that you are worth something!"

Dash jumped out of his own chair, possibilities and plans flashing before his eyes.

"Yes! You're so right, Bud!" he exclaimed. "That is the greatest advice ever!"

Dash walked around the kitchen quickly, without even remembering to control his super speed. He was so full of confidence that everything he always wished to do was popping into his head. He was planning a new attitude at school, a more mature relationship to his sister and all kinds of improvements he could think of.

He suddenly stopped walking.

"You know what? You are the greatest friend I could've ever asked for." He smiled. "You're such a genius, you know?!"

Dash rushed out of the kitchen and, with a last wave of his hand, he left the house, his head spinning with thoughts.

Syndrome crossed his arms and grinned with satisfaction.

"I know I am…" He whispered to himself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This chapter starts building up the plot better. Dash's relationship with Syndrome goes slightly deeper from his point of view. Syndrome still sees Dash as bait, though he keeps a little more respect for the boy than before.

Don't expect much slashy action SO soon, I'm actually trying to make this as IC as possible (regardless of what has been said by a reviewer who admitted not have read the fic, yet right away decided it was OOC and "paedophile").

Speaking of which, I really appreciate all reviews, even the ones with constructive criticism (a.k.a. **flames**). All I ask, though, is that these kind reviewers **read my fic before judging it.** Whatever you say based on **your interpretation of the summary** is a product of your own mind, clearly **stating that YOU "see" sexual interaction** between Syndrome and Dash, while I'm going for the physiological view of things. Please base your thoughts on what my fic **_IS_ **not on what **you _think it might be_**. Thanks! :)

I also would like to thank the reviewers who make my day, even if only with a single line of encouragement! It means more to me than you might think. ;)

Thanks to: **WormmonABC, RavensHaelo, selbidercnI,** **selbidercnI **,** Spikes Girl5, soccergurl1990**, **tile**, **Yuki** and **Jack-Jack Incredible**!

Obs: This is un-betaed as always. Forgive me for any mistakes!


	3. Me gusta tu

**C h a p t e r 3  
**M e G u s t a s T u

"_Que voy a hacer, je ne sais pas._

_Que voy a hacer, je ne sais plus._

_Que voy a hacer, je suis perdu._

_Que horas son, mi corazóns"_

_Manu-Chao_

When Dash got home later that day his parents, Violet and Jack-Jack were all sitting by the dining table. He waved at them as he got in and proceeded to sit on his own chair. Though something didn't feel quite right in that room, he could feel it. Dash looked around, wondering just what his older sister and younger brother seemed to be waiting so excitedly for, they looked like they were about to burst.

Dash turned his attention to his parents. Bob was quietly chewing his food, which was unnatural of him, and Helen was glaring at him. That could only mean one thing:

"Did I do something wrong?" Dash muttered without really wishing an answer.

"That's what we would liked to know." His mother crossed her arms angrily.

"Well, I didn't." he shuddered.

"How do you explain not being home until seven every day after school, then?" Helen insisted, looking angrier every second. Violet pretended to cut her meat, but she couldn't hide her smile of satisfaction.

"I've done nothing wrong, mom, believe me!" Dash answered, trying to look as hurt as possible. "I even thought you'd be proud of me…"

Helen acted like a 'strong' mother, but truth was, she always wanted her children to be happy. Seeing Dash so disappointed must have triggered her motherly side, because her frown was gone and a caring smiled appeared.

"I'm sorry, honey. I just wanted you to share with us what's going on in your life. We're your family and we care." She said.

Dash gave a faint smile, pleased to know his drama classes were finally paying off.

"I never meant to hide anything from you, mom, I swear." He said. "Don't worry, you'll all know soon what I've been doing and you're _gonna_ like it a lot! 'Promise!"

* * *

The two kids standing across the street were slowly getting on Syndrome's nerves. They were approaching the house a bit every half an hour. That didn't mean much at first, but time passed; soon Tyler and Jake were only a few feet away from the fence. 

Syndrome carefully walked into the living room, making sure he couldn't be seen, and sat right under the window, close enough to hear the boys talking.

"I did not skip class, something terribly important to me and my future, just to stand here pretending to be a tree!" the thinner of the two said, crossing his arms. "'Sides, we've to know what Dash's been doing in that house."

"I think we should trust him and not go in there." The chubby one said, gulping. "I don't like that house. It looks haunted… and I'm a ghost-phobic, Tyler!"

Tyler rolled his eyes and grabbed Jake by the wrist. "We are going in!"

"No we're not! Please!" Jake pleaded.

They were really coming in; Syndrome had to think of something fast. He couldn't lure the boys away without showing himself or making the house seem even more haunted— which would blow Dash's cover of saying the place was empty.

If he couldn't make the two go away, then Syndrome would have to keep them in. He was avoiding that technique from the very start, but he was desperate and in a lack of other options.

Tyler dragged his friend Jake up to the front porch and then let go of his wrist. He clapped his hands and, with a long sigh, he turned the doorknob to open the door and reveal the living room.

"Well, it's kind of wrecked, but not haunted." Tyler said, cockily putting his hands on his waist. "See, Jake? It's not like there's anything dangerous in-"

Syndrome grabbed both of Tyler's arms and pulled him in. Before he could have any reaction, Syndrome pasted a large piece of duct tape over his mouth. Jake, instead of running, froze and kept staring wide eyed at Syndrome. He pulled the second boy in a sealed his mouth with tape.

"This is to teach you not to always believe your friends." Syndrome said with a grin.

Tyler was trying to make Jake stand up and run, but the chubby boy was still paralyzed.

"Just because he knows everything at school doesn't mean he knows everything about the world." Syndrome continued, stepping closer to the boys. "Now," he clapped his hands. "Am I going to have to chase you and _then_ tie you up, or will you spare me of the running?"

Tyler let go of his friends hand and turned to window, but before he could even think of jumping out of it, Syndrome had sprung forward, pulled the boy's arms behind his back and tied them together with more tape.

"Thank you!" Syndrome laughed, pushing the boy the ground to tie his feet.

Syndrome turned around and wasn't surprised to see Jake was still there, eyes filled with tears and sweating heavily.

"You know what! You take away all the fun of making prisoners." He shook his head disappointedly.

* * *

Dash knew he had to be more careful from that point on. His parents had noticed something was up, as usual. That was not too much of problem, as long as he could keep them from finding out about Bud; he planned on telling them, of course, though he had to wait for the right moment. 

The first day of school after his "chat" with Bud about who he was, friendship and proving himself, turned out to be worse than Dash thought it would be. He had spent the entire night planning how he would act and what to say, but it was all useless.

Dash was an outgoing boy and had no trouble expressing his feelings… until the day before. He had put so much responsibility on being the best on his shoulders that things only got harder to manage. When one of the "popular kids" Dash wanted to befriend walked by, he froze. He wasn't nervous or insecure; he just stood there and forgot all he kept telling himself for over twelve hours.

Sleep deprivation had been, for the first time in Dash's over hyperactive life, a problem.

To make matters worse, neither Jake nor Tyler had shown up for school, and that concerned Dash more than his family's suspicion. His so called "friends" were spotted by him and Bud the day before, spying on the house.

The moment the bell rang at three o'clock PM, Dash rushed as fast as he could—yet without looking suspiciously fast—out of the classroom. After making sure he was on an emptier street, Dash applied full speed and got to Bud's house in no time. There was no one standing near the house. That was both a good and a bad sign.

He knocked on the door a few times, calling for Bud. When he started getting annoying, Dash simply opened the door and went in.

"Bud? Are you home?" he called again, walking to the stairs. "Are you up there? I have to talk to you… it's really important!"

Still no answer.

Dash was about to make his way upstairs when he heard a creaking noise behind him. He turned around and found Bud standing there, waving slowly.

"Hey there. Sorry I took so long, I was doing something." He said, lowering his hand.

"Oh, you're okay!" Dash sighed in relief. "When Jake and Tyler missed school today I thought it had something to do with you."

Bud turned his back to Dash and slowly made his way to the kitchen, without a word. When he finally reached the table, he pulled chair and sat down.

"Well, thankfully you were wrong." Bud smiled, his mouth now uncovered with bandages.

Dash grinned. "You're wearing less of those things every day, that's nice."

"Oh, these?" he touched his bandaged face. "They make me feel safe, as I told you before. But a little freedom is always nice." Bud let out a long sigh. "Being tied up to a routine is so… boring. So…" he paused, trying to find the correct word.

"Not fun." Dash completed, still from the living room. Bud nodded slowly.

"Yes, life gets 'not fun' if everything is too safe and perfectly planned." He grinned. "Don't you think?"

"Sort of." Dash looked up, still disappointed with his own behaviour that day. "We plan how to do things, but they always turn out different. I mean," he shuddered, looking back at Bud. "What's the point?"

Bud nodded. "Indeed."

A brief moment of silence followed. Dash was still apprehensively watching Bud, wondering why that man was so mysterious. _He must have his reasons_, Dash thought, not sure why Bud would hardly every share much about himself.

Dash had been telling things non-stop since he walked into that house. Why was Bud still so silent? There had to be a way to prove Dash truly cared about Bud and wanted to know every single thing about him. Suddenly, an idea struck Dash.

"So, Bud… 'still wanting to do something _wild_? Change your routine?" he suggested. Bud was emotionless.

"What?"

"I know it might not seem like much, but… why don't we go watch a movie?"

Bud kept silent for a moment, submersed in his thoughts. He scratched his chin and tapped his feet on the floor, as if having an internal fight with himself. Dash gave a silly smile, trying to make the atmosphere in the room less heavy.

Bud finally sighed and threw his arms up.

"Yeah, what the hell." He said, not sounding very excited; but Dash didn't even think of turning back, he was willing to make Bud a little upset, as long as he could take some information out of him.

* * *

Going out to watch a movie with a fourteen year old boy who was only supposed to be bait? That didn't sound good at all for Syndrome. But as he analyzed some other possibilities of how he could take advantage of that situation, Syndrome decided it was worth the shot. After all, Dash wouldn't be inviting him for _no reason_. He wanted something, and Syndrome had to find out what exactly that was. 

He grabbed his longer, hooded dark coat and put it onbeing found out was something he _could not_ afford.

The day was warm and the sun was shining like never before, perhaps even a tad too brightly for autumn. Syndrome hated hot days; they made him sweaty and terribly moody. The sun bothered him even more on that day in particular. He hadn't been out for so long that his eyes could barely see in all that brightness.

Syndrome tried squeezing his eyes and then covering them with the back of his hand, but it wasn't working very well. He was about to lose his temper and openly curse, when Dash appeared in front of him holding a pair of sunglasses.

"There you go." He said, handing the glasses to Syndrome, who moodily nodded to show _some_ appreciation.

The walk to the theatre was by far one of the longest and tensest in Syndrome's entire life. Not only then sun decided to toy with him, but he kept getting odd looks from passer-bys. That started reminding him a little too much of his High School days, though before he could get even moodier _and_ nostalgic, he felt Dash's hand wrapping on his right arm and leading him to the line so they could get tickets.

Syndrome just nodded again when Dash asked which of the movies he would like to watch and simply followed the boy around. Dash bought some popcorn and then finally decided to look for good seats.

To Syndrome's surprise, the theatre was rather full of familiar sorts of people. Teenagers wearing t-shirts with a very superhero-ish looking man; muscular and handsome, posing more like a movie star than a hero, wearing a black mask and a cape "like every superhero should". There were even some dressed up as that man, which only made the scenery more familiar.

They were all chatting loudly to each other, showing off their merchandise and trying to come out as the "biggest fan". Yes, he was very familiar with that. He had once been one of those kids, worshipping his "god".

But in all those years admiring someone else, Syndrome knew he had forgotten about who _he _was and what _he_ was capable of. Only when he finally got reject by a arrogant superhero, he realized it was time to have a purpose of his own instead of living off someone else's. And he was very proud of his choice and ready to stick to it until the very end.

Syndrome followed Dash until the last row of sits. He picked the only sit against the wall so he wouldn't have to deal with some fanboy blinded by some random man with a pointy chin and slimy blonde hair; the only thing he wanted to concentrate on that day was his goal.

Dash quietly sat beside him, getting handfuls of popcorn and anxiously stuffing them in his mouth. Syndrome watched the boy with amusement and waited until he finally noticed. Dash withdrew his hand from the popcorn and cleared his throat.

"You… want some?" he shyly asked Syndrome, who simply shook his head.

"I was just wondering what made you so… nervous." He explained, removing his sunglasses as the lights in the theatre slowly faded. "That's all." He carefully placed the glasses in his coat's pocket.

"I... well…" Dash twirled his nose in frustration and sighed. "Screw it. I'll just be honest." He breathed deeply and turned his body entirely to Syndrome. "I don't know anything about you, Bud! And I really want to. You say things about us being friends but…" he gestured frantically, trying to express something he couldn't.

_So that's what this is all about… little Parr boy is getting fond of me_, Syndrome thought, surprised that he had caused such and effect so soon.

"I understand, Dash, please don't drag this any longer." He politely said, placing a hand on Dash's left shoulder. "I'd really like to tell you more about me, but there isn't much to know. And what really matters here is you, not me. So why care about my boring life?"

That was ought to do the trick to some else, but not to Dash.

"Well, I care and I want to know about you. This isn't all about me, my life is just as boring as yours. We just happened to meet in a very strange moment, that's all." Dash sat up straight in his seat and turned his attention back to the movie, which was about to begin. "A _very_ strange moment."

"Then let's make it less strange. Tell me about you."

"No, you tell me about you, Bud!" Dash protested, slightly more aggressively than usual. "I really want to know."

Syndrome sighed loudly, making up a silly little story he would turn into his life. "I was born on-"

"Excuse me!" Said a boy with a high pitched voice, bright orange hair and large blue eyes sitting in front of them. He were huge braces that wouldn't let him close his mouth… or keep drool from coming out of the corners of his lips. "I was wondering which clan you two are supporters of? We plan on separating the theatre in clans during the beginning of the War, as seen in issue one hundred and eighty five part eight of the 'Endurance' saga."

Syndrome raised an eyebrow, wondering who had put a talking mirror in front of him. Dash was about to speak up, but Syndrome cut the boy off.

"We are part of none." He answered.

"None? That is not possible, sir." The boy paused to suck some drool back into his mouth. "As clearly stated on issue twenty three every citizen of Bigville must have a clan and-"

"We have no clan. We don't care about what is 'clearly stated'. We think you should stop worshipping fictional characters who have never, don't and will never exist. Ever. And we think you turn around before we start playing 'Who can stuff more popcorn in your mouth'." Syndrome shot an angry glare and waited the now scared boy turn around.

Dash's jaw was slightly hanging loose. "Cool."

"Just doing what I believe is right." Syndrome felt his horrible mood taking control once more.

"So if the boy's a little obsessed with a comic book? He'll get over it." Dash shuddered.

Syndrome turned to him with a cold look in his face. "What if he doesn't?"

* * *

When Dash invited Bud to watch a movie with him he thought it would be a great chance to find out more about that mysterious man. But no matter how hard he tried, Dash only managed to make matters worse. 

He had never seen Bud with such a piercing, almost terrifying, look in his face. They had known one another for a very short time, but Dash could already tell when his friend was acting oddly.

"Even so, what harm could he do? Not even fifty year old Trekkies ever hurt anyone." Dash insisted, pushing his luck too far.

"Apparently you haven't met many obsessive compulsive fanboys." Bud shot back. His eyes were directed to the screen, though he wasn't really watching the movie. Bud was thinking of something, and Dash would love to know what.

Dash knew exactly what to answer. After all, he had known an obsessive compulsive man once—Syndrome. But that was a secret he couldn't go telling anyone, he first had to trust that person immensely, and then make sure his family felt the same way.

When he analyzed his own dilemma, Dash realized Bud could be going through the exact same thing. They had shared many things before, though never anything huge and very important. If he wanted Bud to tell him all the truth about himself, Dash would have to tell _his own_ truth.

That, however, wouldn't be such an easy task.

"Uh, Bud?" he faintly called, biting his lips and trying to find a something to focus his attention on.

"Yes?" Bud answered.

"Well… you see… I understand why you won't tell me anything." Dash decided to look right at Bud, no matter how tough it'd be. He took a deep breath and spoke as fast as he could… though not intentionally. "I know that I've never told you any of my biggest secrets, so yeah, how could I except you to tell me any of yours! Hah, I'm a hypocrite. Sorry about that! What you want to know? Ask me, I answer. Then I ask and you answer. Then you ask and I answer! You know! Then I…"

Dash chuckled uncomfortably, looking down to his lap, as Bud eyed him confusedly.

"You… didn't get a word I said, did you?" Dash asked. Bud simply shook his head.

"I understood what you meant. You want us to share a deeper bond… to know all there is to know about the each other. It is, indeed, not very simple." He made a brief pause, which almost made Dash lose all his hope, and started talking again. "For you, that is. I have nothing to hide from you because I trust you blindly, Dash. The question is… Do _you _trust me?"

Dash's eyes widened slightly as he made the same question to himself: '_Do I trust Bud?_' The answer, at first, was rather simple: '_Yes, I do_,' However, there was always a little "but" to mess things up. ', _but for how long_?'

Dash didn't trust anyone but his family, he never did. Sometimes it felt like anyone would betray him when the chance arrived. He had never proved that theory either, for he had never even tried to believe in anyone's word.

That, he realized, was the perfect time to do so. Risk something important in order to get another thing that would be even greater: confidence in his judgement.

"I trust you, Bud, I really do. But sometimes it seems like you don't." Dash answered.

"I not only trust you too, I really admire you." Bud nodded. "This conviction and braveness you've got… it's all amazing. You challenged me even when I was extremely rude to you."

"I knew that you didn't mean to be rude. I mean… you'd never do something bad to me." Dash smiled. He put his popcorn aside to free his right hand and place it over Bud's. "I can feel that."

Bud seemed reluctant at first, only after a few seconds he finally smiled back.

"So…" Bud sighed. "What do you want to know?"

Dash's smile widened. "Everything! Tell me your life!" he cheerfully said.

"Sounds fair if you tell me yours…" Bud added.

"No problem." Dash shuddered. He was ready to tell his biggest secret to a man he hardly knew, but for some reason it didn't feel as wrong as it sounded. "I live with my parents, my older sister and my younger brother. We are apparently pretty normal, except that… well… we're all supers."

Bud grinned, showing a lot of interest, and with a drawlingly voice said: "Really?"

* * *

For some reason this chapter is slightly funnier than the other two, maybe because when I get moody in real life I put out my frustration in my fics; that explains why the "jokes" aren't exactly funny, just disturbing. 

Something else that is different about this chapter is… It's a lot longer than I intended it to be. :D Which is a good thing, if you think of how long it's been since my last update!

Very well… THE SLASH IS COMING! And when it does, the rating will go up to R. I didn't want to do that, because it practically means "Let's take my fic off the front page and put it in a section NO ONE REALLY CARES ABOUT." Fanfiction . net should re-consider putting R rated fics in a different section so everyone has to switch the rating filter to "All" or "R" in order to see that sort of fics. Oh well. No one ever said this was an entirely fair fanfiction community (And God knows it is NOT!), right?

Anyhow, the next chapter will probably come out sooner, I promise. :)

And, finally…

_Thanks to all the wonderful reviews/reviewers! You make my days so much merrier every time!_

**Spikes Girl5, **

**selbidercnI, **

**WormmonABC, **

**Syndrome Fan Project Kronos, **

**A Person Who Cares..., **

**dKiWi, **

**ShadowWalker NightCrawler,**

**SailorEevee!**

**THIS CHAPTER IS PROBABLY FULL OF MISTAKES HERE AND THERE, THAT'S BECAUSE I DON'T GIVE MY STORIES FOR ANYONE TO BETA-READ. I'M HUMAN AND I MAKE MISTAKES, SO BEAR WITH ME. THANKS:)**


	4. Down with love

**C h a p t e r 4  
**D o w n W i t h L o v e

"_Down with eyes romantic and stupid  
__Down with sighs and down with cupid  
__Down with songs that moan about night and day  
Brother let's stuff that dove!  
__Away  
Yes, take it away, away  
__Far away!"_

Dash nodded slowly, confirming his last statement. He gave a swift look around the nearest seats and, making sure there was no one around, leaned closer to Bud so they would be only a couple of inches away from each other.

"My parents are retired from hero work, even though it's not illegal anymore. They keep saying all we need is family, blah blah blah." Dash rolled his eyes.

"But what do _you _think?" Bud interrupted.

"Me? Well, I think that's dumb. We should use our powers and do some good. But anyhow," Dash continued. "My sister and I were trying to join forces to work by ourselves. When mum and dad found out they banned us from using our powers at all."

Bud sighed. "They acted cruelly, didn't they? Banning is not the solution," He said. "Besides, doesn't this all seem a little hypocritical _and_ selfish?"

"How?" Dash raised an eyebrow.

"They, just like all parents, sit every morning to have breakfast with an open newspaper reading out loud things they find outrageous. They complain about the world, how the politics suck and how things are getting worse every minute. But they— and I'm not talking about your parents alone—have the power to make things change; superhuman or not," Bud paused for a brief moment, and then added with a disappointed tone. "Yet, they'd rather keep their lousy jobs and monotonous lives than try to help. Some are more capable of doing anything, like your parents… but they don't."

Dash's mouth was slightly open, as if something had suddenly hit him— and it had. He closed his mouth and swallowed, his throat was already getting dry.

"I see your point, Bud. And I suppose you're right." Dash shuddered. "And since I probably can't change their mind, I better take matters in my own hands. Right?"

Bud nodded. "Exactly." a smile spread across his lips. "A part of me is right now begging to make me tell you that you're wrong and you should keep living like that for your own sake and happiness; because I know you're ought to get hurt in this filthy world we live and I don't want that. But I feel this is your destiny, so…"

Dash bit his lower lip, staring a Bud with and intrigued expression. He was so glad someone cared about him that much. Instead of keeping him from doing something, Bud was supporting him and his decision. That was absolutely amazing to him. Dash opened a broad smile, a little giggle coming out as he did so. He opened his arms and threw them around Bud's neck and pulled himself close to the older man.

"Thank you," Dash whispered.

- - - - - -

Gladly, Dash couldn't see Syndrome's face; he'd get extremely suspicious if he did. Syndrome's expression was of pure horror. He wanted to gain the boy's trust, sure, but he didn't want to feel the need of returning the feeling— and yet, that was exactly the case.

Syndrome didn't easily get attached to other people unless they proved to be worth it. That wasn't something easy to identify. Not only he had to analyze their behaviour but also the way they acted around him. Syndrome relied on his senses immensely. If he felt bad or uncomfortable around someone he'd right away give up any further interactions, thus the reason why he had so few friends.

However, Dash's much smaller arms around his neck felt like heaven, and the boy's tiny body pressed against Syndrome's broad chest was unlike anything he had experienced before. It was like something was exhaling from Dash's body, a good, calming feeling he had experienced only once before in his life: his mother's final, and only, hug.

Mrs. Pine was definitely not the best example of a mother; twelve years and a fatal car accident were the only things that made her realize how much she loved her son. The doctors gave her no more than half an hour to live, after a sharp piece of glass went straight through her right lung and out her chest. They could not remove it without triggering her death, but not doing so would have the same results, only slowly and much more painfully. She chose the second option for the sole purpose of seeing her son one last time. They called him into her room and she, in tears, wrapped her arms around the tiny boy's neck.

"This world sucks, Buddy." She whispered in his ear, sobbing. "Anything you do will always cause damage, no matter how good were your intentions. There is only one thing that'll never fail when true: love."

"Mum…" he cried, in a lack of anything else better to say.

"So go out there and love," She suddenly went serious and raised her tone: "Or I'll send my ghost from Hell with a bunch of little demons and we'll rip off your head!"

Syndrome loved two things in his life: his mother and sarcasm. And he also enjoyed putting the two together in the same sentence. But sometimes he had to admit the woman had done some good deeds, eventually, like teaching him how to shoot a gun… and how to identify the most troublesome of all emotions that is love.

Those thoughts put him in state of denial. If what was coming from Dash was indeed love, then he was in some serious trouble, even though he assured himself it was not reciprocate. He wanted Dash to trust him, not to create an emotional link.

_Now I remember why I let others do the social parts of my schemes_, Syndrome thought, mentally hammering his own head.

Dash let go of Syndrome's neck and fell back into his seat. He seemed reinvigorated; the look on his face wasn't the same as before. Dash was even moving back and forth his legs under the chair.

"Oh, well!" Syndrome clapped his hands on his thighs and straightened up to break the uncomfortable silence. "A nice compliment! Yes, nice, sure! Thank you!"

Dash was quietly slurping his soda and watching the movie as if he hadn't even listen to Syndrome accidentally letting his mask of constant composure fall.

Glad for being so lucky, Syndrome sighed, loosened up on his seat and remained silent for the rest of the movie.

- - - - - -

"I thought it was gonna be dumb, but whoa!" Dash exclaimed, closing his fists and pretending to punch an invisible foe. "That fight scene was so cool! The guy kept punching the other over and over and over and over even after he was dead!"

Bud eyed Dash with a hateful look on his face.

"No it was not cool!" he shot back. "All Bethenor wanted was to be better acknowledged by everything he had done, how is that such a bad thing! Heavens!"

"Well, yeah! But killing a bunch of people just to get to Anzigflor and then lose miserably to him because Bethenor **accidentally underestimated** his **most fearsome enemy**?" Dash rolled his eyes. "Sounds more dumb than proper to me!"

"That shows just how much you know about good and evil." Bud crossed his arms moodily and kept following Dash down the street.

"I think I have a pretty vast knowledge on evil master minds!" Dash protested. "I mean, I was kidnapped by one once… But then I kicked his ass and broke free!"

Bud stopped walking and his expression turned from moody annoyance to a weak little smile. "And what was his name?"

Dash scratched his chin. "Now that's a good question. Disease… Illness… Infection… Disorder…"

"Syndrome?" Bud asked, sounding annoyed.

Dash's eyes widened and he pointed at him excitedly. "Yes, that's it! Syndrome! With a dumb alias like that, how did he expect me to remember!"

"It's not dumb. It's quite clever!" Bud muttered, twisting his mouth to the side and squirting his eyebrows together.

"Yeah? And how do you know?" Dash put his hands on his waist.

"Well… it's… just a guess." Bud muttered again, placing his hands on his coat's pockets and quickening his pace so he would be walking in front of Dash this time.

The walk home was quiet and extremely tense. Bud kept his eyes down at all times and Dash was feeling too uncomfortable to even dare trying to start a new conversation.

When they finally got back into the house, Dash wiped some sweat of his forehead. He had been so worried about Bud's constant mood-swings that he ignored every other feeling, including the most important of all: Bud had not told him a single thing. They had spent over two hours together and all Dash did was babble about himself and then embarrass Bud with his sudden sentimental side.

Dash rushed after Bud, calling his name over and over. "Wait for me! Bud? What's wrong! That's not cool! Bud!"

Bud stopped walking all of a sudden and turned to Dash with a furious look on his face. He pointed a menacing finger at the boy.

"You know what your problem is?" he asked harshly.

"Bud, I-"

"No! Answer my question!" he insisted. "Do you know what your problem is?"

Dash shook his head slowly, unsure of what he had done of so bad.

"You're too damn…" Bud paused to smile. "Annoying!"

He poked Dash on his ribs a couple of times making him giggle.

"Stop, Bud!" Dash looked down shyly. "I've told you before how I hate to be tickled… and if you do that again I'll to have to kick you really hard and _not _apologize!"

"Oh, I'm _so _sorry…" Bud sighed and turned around for a second before jumping back in front of Dash and poking him over and over.

Dash didn't like to admit that to anyone, but his weakness was tickling. He lost full control of his body and mind every time. Thankfully, no sane villain would try tickling his opponent to death.

He had one defence system for emergencies, however. He didn't have much control over it, but it was nonetheless efficient. Unfortunately for Bud, that system was about to be activated.

The moment Bud touched exactly under Dash's armpits, the super-boy threw his arms and legs up, hitting Bud's jaw and genital area really hard.

Bud cried in pain and crouched into foetal position on the floor, cupping both his hands over his most sensitive spot.

Dash rushed over to him and grabbed his right shoulder.

"Bud! I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?" Dash asked, nervously trying to pull Bud's hands from his pants to check it himself.

"I'm ok, don't worry!"

Dash sat back on the floor, feeling overly embarrassed. Not for kicking his friend, but for trying to see if everything was all right. Friends did not look at other friend's genitals, ever! He learned that lesson rather early when he went on a sleepover party and tried to change into his pyjamas in front of the other boys. Dash was laughed at by the others and then had to go through a long, tiring lecture from the boy's mother. He never told his own mum that, feeling too tired for more preaching.

Though he knew it was wrong for even thinking of looking at something prohibited like that, Dash couldn't see any harm on seeing _Bud's_. Had they grown so close as friends, or was there something else? Did he want to see it because he…

**No!** Dash mentally shouted.

He couldn't feel that way for Bud because it was not something natural! He was supposed to love a girl, marry her and have tons of babies, just like his parents.

Right?

- - - - - -

Syndrome wanted to curse, to kick that brat's head off and play football with it. He hated to be kicked, punched or involved in any kind of physical contact that could be considered violent. Not that he was _peaceful _person, he just hated to feel _hurt_.

"Are you hurt?" said Dash's faint voice.

"Yes," groaned Syndrome. "I'm hurt all right."

"I'll go get some ice!" he announced, all too quickly, and ran back into the kitchen in super speed, then returned with the blink of an eye. "I… forgot the fridge's not working."

Syndrome felt bothered with Dash's sudden wish to help him, especially in a matter such as that. The last thing he wanted was a little boy touching him with his tiny little boy hands.

"Don't worry about it," Syndrome explained, quickly getting up. "I just have to walk a little."

That was, if he could walk. Every time he closed his legs, even if only slightly, pain would overwhelm him.

Noticing Syndrome's difficulty to walk, Dash hurried and grabbed his arm, helping him stand up straight.

"Don't try too hard," Dash said, in an almost bossy tone. "I'll help you get into… bed."

Syndrome noticed right way the embarrassment stamped across Dash's face. Although he found it amusing how the boy was trying so hard to hep him, that was an unfortunate proof of what he had been denying since the cinema.

Dash had feelings for him.

That would only make the revelation of his true self a harder task, for it would hurt the boy deeply. And, for some reason, Syndrome was starting to despise that idea. He came to like Dash, to understand his frustrations of being a super.

For the first time in his life, Syndrome was glad he wasn't a real super. The burden would have been too much for young Buddy to handle, he knew it would.

Syndrome wanted to tell Dash that he shouldn't let those powers take over his life, that he didn't have to try and bring peace to the world—it was too much of an idealistic thought! There would never be such thing as peace.

"Which one is your room?" Dash asked, a streak of sweat sliding down his forehead.

Syndrome pointed to the room in front of them and Dash led him to the bed. Then, with a quiet last apologize, Dash left the house.

As much as he wished to, Syndrome couldn't say a word about those subjects, though. His mask would fall and his identity would be exposed.

Syndrome's plan would fail yet again.

But, for some reason, that didn't seem so bad anymore. If he could just keep Dash with him, then destroying the Parr's wouldn't be necessary. He could slowly change his identity and become Bud forever.

**No!** Syndrome mentally shouted.

He couldn't feel that way for Dash. It was not natural, in the first place. Then, he had to ensure his revenge and prove he was the strongest.

Right?

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I'm so sorry for the long, boring hiatus, but I had some very serious matters to take care of in RL. Now that everything is finally settled down I can start writing again:)

Now, something that might interest you…

**Interlude #1 is on my journal!**

Why has it been cut out, you ask? Well, it's a lemon version of Dash helping Syndrome after the kick. It does not add anything to the story, it only feeds the pervy mind of the more grown up readers. If you're interested on reading it, go to my journal and check the very first entry of the page. Or, if you're reading this entry _too_ long after **06/13/05**, it's in the MEMORIES.

_Thanks to all the wonderful reviews/reviewers! You make my days so much merrier every time!_

**THIS CHAPTER IS PROBABLY FULL OF MISTAKES HERE AND THERE, THAT'S BECAUSE I DON'T GIVE MY STORIES FOR ANYONE TO BETA-READ. I'M HUMAN AND I MAKE MISTAKES, SO BEAR WITH ME. THANKS:)**


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